


Dramatic

by von_gikkingen



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 15:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: His last thought drifting off to sleep was vague amusement at the clinking metallic sounds as their arms collided while they were looking for some comfortable way to share the narrow bed.





	Dramatic

It’s the sound of metal clinking against metal that immediately tells him it’s that kind of day. That he’s about to have to deal with _this _first thing in the morning...

“Not again,” he says under his breath before he can quite think better of it.

“Thanks,” comes Nebula’s toneless reply almost right away. And something about her body language tells him she’s definitely displeased with him. Though it’s more likely for the fact his first instinct is to let go of her than over anything he said.

“You know what I mean,” he says over further sounds of colliding metal parts as he unwraps his arm from around her. “I have to stop doing this.”

“Because?”

“Letting myself get used to this is not a good idea. Not with you leaving so soon.”

“Oh… you’re serious,” she realizes. Because having shifted herself she’s now looking up into his face and can see it clearly enough. All the complicated feelings he has about this. About how easy it is to decide that there’s really no point in leaving whenever their conversations stretch too late into the night – how easy it’s not to be worried about drifting off to sleep holding her… “I’m sorry,” she frowns, “are you saying you intend never to do this again once I’m gone.”

“I intend never to have to deal with someone with bruises all down their arm first thing in the morning,” he sighs. Because that’s the main reason for why he feels so comfortable around her and they both know it. There is simply no need to worry about hurting her. Spending a night pressed against someone as fragile as the average human would lead to a very different kind of morning. One he _really_ wasn’t interested in having to live through.

“Right,” Nebula comments, a wry smile on her lips. “Humans are fragile and you’re a weapon.”

“What?” he says, since her tone clearly tells him she has more to add.

“Isn’t there just the slightest chance you’re being dramatic? From what I know about your species you’re a lot tougher than you look.”

He says nothing. Because she’s not exactly wrong. Yet she doesn’t really feel the weight of his metal arm as anything other than slight discomfort and she couldn’t possibly bruise under his touch even if he did anything more dramatic than hold her against him for a few hours. Something anyone organic couldn’t tolerate anywhere as easily.

Which was why it was for the best he made the decision not to put anyone in that situation some time ago. He inflicted more than enough pain for a lifetime, he didn’t plan on doing any more harm, not even by accident. And so he just gave up on ever having this again – even as little as the closeness of another person, another heartbeat in the dark.

Until Nebula, that was. Because all those very good reasons to keep his distance just meant nothing when it came to someone like her. And so when she told him – well, ordered him, really – to stop being _such a terran_ about things and just spend the night he didn’t argue. His last thought drifting off to sleep was vague amusement at the clinking metallic sounds as their arms collided while they were looking for some comfortable way to share the narrow bed.

The next time she didn’t even have to say anything. They talked into the night and when the hour grew too late and holding their eyes opened became a struggle they just gave in, holding onto one another while they slept. Because it was _that_ uncomplicated. “I really don’t understand you sometimes. All this misplaced guilt,” she says, her black eyes growing softer with what seemed genuine worry for him. “I’m _a weapon_. An actual killing machine. It never occurred to me that should be a reason to let my sex life come to a halt…”

It is such an offhanded comment he doesn’t have the slightest idea what to say to that. That is not to say several things don’t occur to him, thoughts following one another in quick succession, most of them having to do with how little distance there is between them right now.

She can read all of them in his face, he’s certain, because in the next moment she smiles, genuine amusement flashing in her eyes. “That’s not what this is.”

“Why not?”

He blinks back the surprise at the realization _that_ was his first question. That those words – words he _really_ didn’t know he was going to say – just left his mouth.

“I don’t know,” she says, sounding as matter-of-fact as ever, despite what strange a turn the conversation has taken. “You’re just too… sad. It’s not as attractive as you think it is.”

He laughs before he can stop himself. “Thanks,” he says in a way of a reply. And just like that he feels no need to get some distance between them, fast, before things can start heading in a wrong direction…

“You should be glad, you know,” she smirks. “You terrans are far too fragile. Who knows if you’d even survive it?”

He just rolls his eyes at that. Not even surprised that, no, she’s nowhere near done making fun of his attitude.

“Someone with your breakable bones and easy to bruise skin. What if I hurt you…?” she continues, “No, I could _never_ take such a risk…”

“_I get it_,” he says, the words sounding more amused than exasperated to his own ears.

“Do you really…? _Get it_? Get how stupid that is?” she says, her expression growing serious again. “Why would you isolate yourself like that?”

“It’s complicated,” he says, rolling onto his back, suddenly uncomfortable with how clear a view of his expression she has while he’s leaning over her like this. “I don’t enjoy hurting people.”

“You’re so good at making excuses,” she sighs. And the next thing he knows she’s reaching for his arm. Pulling on it to make him cross the distance, press himself against her back, just as he was for most of the night. The inevitable sound of their arms colliding puts a grin on his face, same as ever. “You need to stop being so dramatic. Your people aren’t that fragile, you know. Just find one tough enough. Or is wallowing in misery that pleasant?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Sure,” she says, her tone speaking volumes about how believable she found _that_ statement.

“So concerned for my well-being considering you’re using me. I know what this is about, you know. You letting me stay the night. You’re testing them, aren’t you?”

“I’m not testing _them_,” she replies tonelessly. “I’m testing my tolerance for their idiocy.”

“And?”

“I haven’t killed anyone yet.”

“That _is _impressive,” he acknowledges. Because as briefly as he knew Drax he could tell his tendency to openly state things no one else would even consider talking about might be a serious test of anyone’s self-control. “We should get out of bed, you know,” he says after a few minutes pass and she shows no sign of wanting to get on with her day.

“No,” she says only.

“Because…?”

“I’m worried about you. About what you’ll do when I leave.”

All the words are spoken in such matter-of-fact, nearly emotionless tone – yet he knows that’s exactly why she’s refusing to let the moment end just yet. He knows she really is worried. Suspecting that he’ll let the misplaced guilt of his crimes trap him into denying himself what he’s so obviously starved for. “It really is unhealthy isn’t it…?” he finds himself saying. And the words come out a lot easier now that she’s facing away from him.

“_Yes_,” says Nebula, her body language relaxing a little as she senses she’s finally getting through to him. “Just… Find someone you want to be around so much it doesn’t allow for you to fixate on how dangerous you think you are.”

“That should be easy,” he replies, just a touch sarcastically.

“It’s not going to be _that _hard. Not if you stop being such a terran about this.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

“So do I,” she says before he’s quite done wondering whether he meant to say it with that much emotion behind the words. “You deserve better than solitude and misery.”

Not knowing what to say to that he just hugs her a little tighter to let her know he heard her. Because there is no chance the pressure of his metal limb will leave bruises on her artificial skin, yes, but also because to do anything else is simply unthinkable. Because these words coming from anyone else would mean so much less – but coming from her they actually make a difference.

She knows exactly what it’s like to feel like a weapon. And she didn’t let that stop her from living a life far better than those who made her into one wanted for her. So how can he possibly do anything less than try to do the same…?

“Nebula?”

“Yes?” she says, tensing up in his arms for a moment, clearly uncertain about what’s coming.

“Thank you.”

“What for…?” she says, shifting in his arms until she's able to see his expression again.

“Calling me _dramatic_, mainly,” he says after giving it a second’s thought.

“Oh,” she smiles. “Anytime.”


End file.
